Dull Husband in the South ( of London)

Oh god I’m so depressed . Absolutely everyone in the whole world is fighting through a blizzard of publishing quids except me . There`s Wife in the North , now rich well connected writer in the North , but never mind . There’s … well one is far to many and what gets me is that some mysterious ingredient called ,“ the quality of the writing “, is the catnip in the garden. As far as I can tell this “quality of writing “, consists of over blown similes and being sad every now and then . So fighting through a haze of anti biotics I don’t see why I shouldn’t have a go . The core material is a bit weak granted, but I soldier on regardless.

I walked to the tube station , like a nifty little speedboat zipping into cut sapphire Aegean inlets . I picked up the paper and the news danced and sang with the Technicolor joy of a young Dick van Dyke. I looked at a grubby old bag lady ,( didn’t really shhh ..), and her face was a blossom falling from the Cherry tree in our house one spring . When I got to work I perused a Liability Policy which called like a Venetian courtesan’s scent caught by her entrapped lover on the bridge of sighs and goodness I felt a bit sad…..
I sat feeling sorry for myself and my soul skittered through the whispered aspens like a prayer. Oh blimey I realised I forgot my packed lunch.. But in such a strange enchanted day , a golden day , I made do with a Kit Kat from the machine……not bad not bad

Honest I can do it with a perforated edge if you prefer ? No takers ? Blast !. Not even a fiver? Ok Ok…….

Ha I prefer the griitty reality of being hard up anyway